


London Calling

by Phiso



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, save it from LJ!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-30
Updated: 2010-12-30
Packaged: 2018-10-27 02:29:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10799808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phiso/pseuds/Phiso
Summary: No matter how much he hates it, London will never stop calling to him.





	London Calling

**Author's Note:**

> Written for RS_Games and ended up not using it. Posted here to save it from LJ. I don't own HP, obviously, but I also don't own the Sweeny Todd lyrics it starts with.

  
_There's a hole in the world like a great black pit_  
and the vermin of the world inhabit it  
and its morals aren't worth what a pig can spit 

_and it goes by the name of London.  
_

 

Remus didn’t think he would be sorry if he never saw London again.  
But that was impossible, for London was always, always calling.

 

 

10.

 _White bandages stained red. Dark halls, silver chains, malicious eyes. The smell of fear._  
  
When Remus was ten, London was St. Mungos. London was the Ministry with its mighty, oppressive hand against his kind. London was full of people who hated him, who thought him less than filth and wanted him to die.

_They loathed him, he could tell. It started the moment they knew what he was and why he was there. People at the Ministry gave him a wide berth, with expressions of shock and revulsion coming at him from every angle. He always noticed when people would refuse to touch anything he had so much as brushed, how even the quills he used to sign things were levitated rather than handled. It was humiliating, and Remus despised going to the Ministry the more for it._  
  
_St. Mungos was no better. Transformations were bad enough without having to deal with the second-rate care he was given afterwards, so sloppily done he often felt even worse afterwards. His parents only took him there in the direst of circumstances, but Remus knew it was pointless; he knew many of the Healers would rather put him down than help him in any way, feeling that it went against their conscious and their Hippocratic oath. Remus would ask himself at first how killing a person could ever possibly feel like the right thing to do, but then he realized that wasn’t how they saw it. To them, it was a simple as crushing a roach or killing an infectious rat: any sane person would do it._

_It was clear to him that they wanted him gone. And every time he went to London, he was never sure if soon, he would be._  
  
To him, London was less than a dream; London was a nightmare.

 

 

15.

When Remus was fifteen, London was Sirius Black.

_Where’re you from? he had asked on the train that first day._

_London had been the answer, and the city had never been the same._  
  
London was hard but strong, constrained but rebellious. London was what Sirius ran away from, and what he could not help but be drawn to. London was where the young could be young, and where the old tried to age them and failed.

_I hate it there, Sirius growled, his fist clenched white against the armrests. I hate it._

_Remus didn’t know what to do; he had never been taught how to comfort another boy._

_It can’t be that bad, Remus said softly, his voice uncertain._

_It’s fucking terrible._

_Remus flinched at the words._

_It’s fucking hell – there’s so much to do in London, so much to see and do and – damn it, I’m always stuck in that fucking shithole and I’m just so fucking sick of them and their fucking attitudes –_

_Bemused by the number of times someone could use the word ‘fucking’ in a single sentence, Remus sucked in a breath and did the only thing he could think of: he gently put his hand on Sirius’s shoulder._

_The muscles beneath his hand loosened ever so slightly._

_You haven’t seen it, Moony, Sirius sighed, turning to Remus with tired eyes. London, it’s – it’s amazing, mate, it really is. It’s got everything. It calls everyone._

_You’ll see, one day. I’ll take you._  
  
London was wild and full of life, and Remus wanted nothing more than to drown in it.

 

 

20.

 _Bloody hell, James, watch out - !_  
  
When Remus was twenty, London was war. London was the Thames brimming with blood; it was the Order, dangerous and deadly. When Remus was twenty, London was in the eyes of a vicious black dog, so lost in its hurt and righteous anger that it had forgotten how to love.

_His hands were shaking, the skin drawn tight against his knuckles as his fingers gripped the back of the chair. He was waiting on edge as bodies hustled about the room, whispering urgently over the frighteningly still body of one James Potter._

_It was difficult to ignore the looks on everyone’s faces – Caradoc’s solemnity, Lily’s horror, McGonagall’s worry – but the one place he refused to turn was to his immediate left, where Sirius was pacing back and forth in a frenzy, his hands squeezing his wand so tightly sparks kept shooting out the end._

_In the middle of a morbid thought there was a small gasp, and Remus’s head snapped up; Sirius’s wand had set the drapes on fire. Lifting his wand, he mechanically doused the flames before taking Sirius abruptly by arm and dragging him into an empty room._

_Sirius snarled, snatching his arm away as soon as they were alone._

_What are you playing at?_

_Sirius, Remus said quietly. Please._

_Shut up. Shut up, you don’t get to tell me what to do –_

_This isn’t making things any better._

_Oh, and your shit job of keeping watch is supposed to –_

_I told you, it wasn’t –_

_Oh right, **right** , tell that to James why don’t you, you bas -_

_Remus wasn’t Sirius; Remus never attacked with the flash and pizzazz and brute strength Sirius was known for. Even his wand work was shrouded in secrets._

_Sirius glared murderously at Remus, clearly outraged by the silencing charm placed on him, but Remus could only gaze back at him, his heart falling as he searched Sirius’s eyes and found only a loathing tinged with fear._  
  
London was drowning, and Remus was caught in thick of it.

 

 

25.

 _The memories came back every time he did._  
  
When Remus was twenty five, London was pain.

_Name._

_Remus John Lupin._  
  
London was a numb heart, a wound with jarred edges that burned to the touch and had yet to heal. London was interrogation, suspicion of the werewolf with the one traitor friend and the three dead ones. London was everything he had held dear not so long ago, violently torn away as it whispered taunts of a wild youth that died feeding the flames.

_Where were you the night of October 31, 1981?_

_I’m afraid I cannot divulge that information._

_Why not?_

_Albus Dumbledore will vouch for –_

_Give us a fucking answer, werewolf._

_I was nowhere near Godric’s Hollow, if that’s what you want to know._

_‘Course not. That’d be too convenient. Do you know what happened that night?_

_A lump lodged itself securely into Remus’s throat, keeping his voice from functioning properly. He hadn’t said it yet, had done everything he could to prevent even thinking it, because once he did it would become real, like a spell or a charm or a hex. And what he wanted, more than anything else in the world, was for it to not be real._

_Remus swallowed hard, his gaze focused on the top of the table before him, resolutely tracing the lines in the wood in an effort to block out the memory of their laughter._

_Pron – James and Lily Potter were – were murdered._

_And their kid?_

_A pause before releasing a shaky breath._

_Harry, he – he survived._

_Right, good to see you can at least read. Y’hear about what happened to Pettigrew?_

_His jaw clenched once as he tried to string the words together, his words failing him._

_Wor – Peter, Peter, he was – he was killed. The day after._

_His head pounded as he tried his hardest not to imagine the scene, but unfortunately it was all too easy. Poor Peter; he never stood a chance._

_Now, what was your relationship with Sirius Black?_

_At the sound of the name, Remus’s chest constricted painfully; it took all of his willpower to keep from tearing out of his bonds and punching the interrogator in the mouth for uttering it._

_Well? Eh, werewolf?_

_I – We –_

_It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep his cool; he closed his eyes, steeling himself against the memory of the man’s charming grin and his bewitching eyes, his smooth skin and soft sighs of ‘Moony’._

_It nearly crippled him, knowing he would never hear that name again, and for once he was glad he was tied down._  
  
Speak up or I’ll put you down, you fucking – 

_We shared a dormitory at Hogwarts. That was all._  
  
When Remus was twenty five, London was loss.

 

 

30.

 _He’ll be coming to Hogwarts next year._  
  
When Remus was thirty, London was a graveyard.

_His hands tightened into fists at the words. He knew it, of course he did, but he tried not to think about it, hoping to avoid the image of mini-Prongs walking down the same corridors his father had almost twenty years prior._

_Hogwarts was a forbidden memory to him. All of it was._  
  
London was what had become of his childhood dreams, what was left of a boy made old far too quickly. London was a photograph he didn’t recognize, grey and faded and echoing the voices of the past. London was King’s Cross and Grimmauld Place and Diagon Alley, all these places that had once played such immense roles in his life and still surprised him when he discovered them still standing.

_I realize this, Professor, but I remain uncertain as to why you called me here._

_McGonagall’s collected expression faltered for a moment, and Remus fought his hardest against clenching his jaw. The walk to King’s Cross had been bad enough – the city looked strange and foreign to him now, with new alleyways to inspire his old war paranoia – but forcing him to watch as the students left for summer holidays was cruel._

_Professor Dumbledore would like you to consider taking up the post of the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor at Hogwarts next term._

_Ah, that explained it. No doubt she intended for him to be inspired by the innocence of the youth before them, to spark in him his old love of teaching. Well, it backfired, because all he could see were the ghosts of Sirius and James running through the crowds, whooping with laughter, as he and Peter chased after them, ignoring Lily’s shrill but empty threats of September detentions._

_If you’re interested, he’ll be more than happy to –_

_But he cut her off, unable to take it anymore._

_No, thank you, Professor. I appreciate the offer, but I must respectfully decline._

_And without another word, he left._  
  
London was filled with tombstones that reached the sky, and Remus had no desire to read all the names engraved on them.

 

 

35.

When Remus was thirty-five, London was a prison disguised as a home. London was full of living ghosts, strangers he knew better than himself. London was still dangerous, but it was manageable this time; London had hope. London was a bittersweet memory he resided in, and one he would later run to when her face looked too much like his and the promise of life reminded him only of the inevitability of death.

_Damn it, Moony, I need to get out of here, I’m going fucking crazy –_

_Remus quietly placed a mug of strong tea in front of Sirius before gently running his hand down the man’s back. His touch had its desired effect, and Remus was glad to see the spark of madness in Sirius’s eye diminish some as the man wrapped his pale hands around the warm mug._

_But this wasn’t the madness of their Hogwarts years. This was a new one, far more haunted and dangerous than what he had grown up with - but Remus wasn’t without experience in fighting demons._

_This is going to sound really selfish, but… He chuckled humorlessly._

_I love it when you call me that._

_Sirius’s looked up, anger giving way to confusion before a small smile finally graced his lips._

_Moony, Sirius whispered. Moony Moony Moony Moony Mooooooooooony._

_Remus’s laughter became real then, and Sirius took the other man’s face into his tea-warmed hands._

_And who am I, my Moony?_

_You are my Padfoot._  
  
When Remus was thirty-five, London was Sirius.

 

 

40.

When Remus was forty, London was over, had been over. London was nothing to him.  
__  
Messieurs Padfoot and Prongs would like to welcome Mr. Moony home.

Because when Remus was thirty-seven, he was free.

**Author's Note:**

> NOW IN GERMAN~! Thanks to [](http://coja5-10.livejournal.com/profile)[ **coja5_10**](http://coja5-10.livejournal.com/)  for the [translation](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/6632221/1/London_Calling)! :D


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